Bound In Gold
by sitabethel
Summary: Every night, Marik dreams about Bakura.
1. Chapter 1

*****Happy birthday SuperSteffy! You're the best beta of all times. I am seriously a better writer because of your constant edits, and my fanfics are better stories because of you (because you never let me get away with anything, lol).**

 **Speaking of betas, thanks to ChaosRocket for beta'ing this.*****

* * *

Every night he dreamed the same dream.

The room owned neither walls nor windows, perhaps _pavilion_ would be a better term, but Marik always felt in his mind that it was a room. _His soul room, a place that showed a reflection of self and expressed the yearnings of his heart_.

Perhaps that's why Marik always met _him_ there.

Marik leaned against a white support beam, looking out beyond the room. He didn't see grass or sky or anything that made sense; he only saw light, white . . . endless. Something about the madness of white, the purity of it, comforted Marik, so he often stared at the glowing void and allowed his thoughts to wander.

And his thoughts always drifted to Bakura.

A presence neared, shadow-quiet, almost imperceivable, like a well-honed razor blade resting against the delicate hollow of one's throat.

"I'm sorry," Marik whispered. Every night he whispered the same apology, and every night came the same reply.

"Marik I'm right here." His voice reverberated against the nape of Marik's neck. Within the tone of that cashmere voice Marik felt too many things; the sensation of silk bindings tying wrists and satin sheets soaking sweat from between the lines of old, old scars - the feel of smooth gold, burning cool against fingertips and cursed with tormented screams and the agonized begging for existence to end, and for them to end with it - and the simple assurance of a presence standing nearby proving that even a fallen angel can still be a guardian.

"I'll wake in the morning."

Lips dragged right below the collar of gold around Marik's neck. He spoke as he teased Marik's skin. "Doesn't matter. I'll still be . . . right . . . here . . ."

Marik sighed. His eyes could no longer bear the weight of his lids and they sank down, but Marik didn't dread the darkness behind his shut eyes because the light surrounding his room poured through the thin membranes of skin and vanquished his fears.

And there was also the fluttering of lips. It was hard to fear anything, darkness or death, with Bakura standing behind him.

Marik turned around, grabbing Bakura's face and attacking his mouth. "I can't stand this," Marik whispered between kisses.

Bakura grabbed Marik's wrists, rubbing the cuffs of gold shielding Marik's pulse points. "I'm right here, Marik."

Marik shook his head, pushing Bakura down on the bed in the center of the room, and pulled at Bakura's clothing. Bakura never spoke much in the dreams, but he did act. His legs tangled around Marik's hips, and his fingers spiralled into Marik's hair.

Each kiss brought a stabbing ache to Marik's chest. The longing snaked through his body until even his fingers and toes hurt with want for Bakura.

He wanted Bakura back, not a dream, but something he could wake up to.

But all he had was the dream, and in the dream Bakura sucked at his collarbone and squeezed Marik's body with his thighs. Marik reacted on sheer instinct, riding Bakura of clothing and devouring the stark white skin with touches and soft brushes of his lips. Marik removed his own clothing so he could feel the entirety of Bakura's cool, smooth skin against his own.

Bakura's gaze stayed calm but expectant as he waited for Marik to advance. Marik never did, not right away, he always waited until sweat nipped at Bakura's temples and his breathing came fast and shallow before he'd do anything beyond touch and kiss.

Bakura always took the torture in stride, as if he already knew that demanding or even begging would simply encourage Marik to go slower. The only sign of visible impatience from Bakura was the way his hips hitched skyward, deepening each kiss from Marik's lips against his white skin.

Tonight, however, a long sigh shifted from Bakura's parted lips, as if he couldn't endure their game any longer. Marik looked up, his lips still hovering over Bakura's thighs where he'd been kissing. "Something wrong?"

Bakura smirked, but didn't answer.

Marik found himself mimicking the expression, keeping his eyes locked on Bakura as he lowered himself back down and licked Bakura's inner thigh.

"You look good between my thighs." The words came quick, perhaps unbidden.

"Do I?"

"Yes."

The statement made it hard for Marik to keep the smirk on his face. The muscles near the corners of his mouth kept trying to stretch wider, turning the expression into a smile, but Marik resisted allowing Bakura to see the effect of his words. He sealed his lips around Bakura's shaft and began to suck. Bakura hitched upward at the sudden contact; it wasn't part of their normal routine and Marik could tell, by both the confusion and lust on Bakura's face, how much he enjoyed the change of pace.

Bakura grabbed the sheets, clutching them with both fists. As Marik continued to slide his mouth up and down, Bakura's hands shifted lower on the bed. Then he grabbed Marik's wrists, and then Marik's shoulders. By the time he reached Marik's hair, straining to arch himself higher, Marik knew Bakura was almost done.

Then Bakura shouted out a jumble of sounds that weren't quite words and Marik swallowed. He pulled away and looked up at Bakura. "Do you still want me?"

Bakura nodded, and Marik shifted higher in order to press into Bakura's body and stare at his face. Bakura's expression looked naked - the way his eyelids twitched with each thrust and how his mouth hung ajar to catch more air as he gasped for breath.

Bakura turned away, forcing Marik to look at him in profile. Marik leaned closer and pressed his lips against Bakura's, giving him no choice but to turn and face Marik again. Now Marik did smile, full and broad. There was something about seeing Bakura vulnerable, and knowing that he was the only person in existence that Bakura would ever allow to see him in such a state, that made Marik too happy not to smile. That's why most nights, even if it was only in his dreams, Marik made sure that he and Bakura lay face to face as Marik came.

As he finished, he couldn't suppress the whimper that escaped his throat. It was hard to censor one's emotions in a dream, and harder still when he was coming inside Bakura. Afterward he couldn't catch his breath, choking on tears he wouldn't shed, not even in a dream.

Bakura held Marik's cheeks. "Marik, stop."

Marik shook his head no, stubborn in his grief. "Bakura, you're dead."

"I was always dead."

"But now you're gone."

"No I'm not." He tucked a lick of pyrite hair behind Marik's ear, tracing Marik's lobe with a white fingertip and giving his earring a playful flick. "I'm right here."

"Dreams don't count."

"I keep telling you these aren't dreams, but you never listen to me, you stubborn bastard."

"You keep _saying that_ , but every morning I wake up in my bed - alone."

Bakura tried to say something else, and Marik had the impression that his words were important, something that would help advance the recurring dreams to their next stage, but before he could speak, Marik's eyes opened to sunlight and the blaring of his cell phone alarm.

He groaned, swiping his alarm off with a violent jab of his finger. Marik glared at the phone and his bedroom. He didn't give two fucks about his day. He felt like he hadn't slept at all, and the empty bed made Marik shudder. A resigned sigh escaped past his lips and he rolled on his back, grabbing his cell phone and checking his emails, trying to pull his mind away from the half-asleep fog still cluttering his thoughts.

After killing fifteen minutes on the phone, Marik rolled out of bed, stumbling to the toilet and then brushing his teeth. He showered, dressed, and went through the motions of his morning routine, memories of Bakura and lovemaking still lingering between every other thought.

Once he made it to the kitchen, Marik fumbled with the coffee maker, sticking his mug directly beneath the filter to catch the first trickle of caffeinated salvation.

"Good morning," Rishid said, sitting at the kitchen table. They shared a two bedroom apartment in Luxor.

Marik didn't mind Rishid's company, although he was rather certain that Rishid was essentially babysitting Marik until he found a wife and settled down. He hadn't been able to explain _why_ exactly that was never going to happen. He was sure Rishid knew; Ishizu was the problem. Marik wasn't sure if his sister was even aware that homosexuality existed, let alone that Marik himself prefered men.

"Morning." Marik rubbed sand out of the corner of his eye.

"I made breakfast." He gestured to a plate of fava beans.

Marik grimaced. "Maybe after I wake-up all the way."

Rishid kept his steady gaze trained on Marik. Marik turned back towards the coffee pot, aware that Rishid was one of the two people who knew how to read his face.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Marik said.

Rishid took a sip from his mug of tea. Steam curled past his cheeks as he tilted the mug to his lips. "You should talk about it."

"I promise, I'm okay."

"I know." Rishid nodded, allowing a calculated pause to fill the air as he took another sip of tea before he continued. "You should still talk about it."

Marik sighed. He refilled his half-drunk cup of coffee and ladled the rest of the fava beans into a bowl although he wasn't hungry. He sat at the table across from Rishid. "It's nothing, really. I just haven't slept well in a while."

Rishid nodded. "You look tired."

Marik combed his hair with his fingers. Rishid saying _you look tired_ was the equivalent of anyone else saying _hey you look like crap_. "I keep having dreams . . . very vivid dreams."

Rishid thought for a moment. "Are they similar to the dreams you had when we first left the tomb?"

Marik's lavender eyes widened a little at the memory of _those_ dreams. "No. Thank the gods no. These are just dreams, not nightmares. I haven't have problems with that since . . ." Marik sighed. "Domino City."

More specifically since Marik learned the truth about how his father died.

"What happens in your dreams?"

Marik shook his head, taking a bite of food to end the conversation.

Rishid sighed and set his mug down on the table. "Marik, I couldn't stop . . . that day. I tried. I begged to take your place, but on the end I couldn't . . ."

"Rishid." Marik set his spoon and mug down. "Anything resembling a decent human being in my personality is because of your influence on me. I swear the dreams have nothing to do with the tombs."

Rishid shook his head. "I believe you. But because I couldn't stop it, I always stood by you, as if I could make up for it that way. Do you understand? Looking back, I should have dragged you to a therapist."

Marik snorted a single, humorless laugh. "Because we knew that therapy existed."

Rishid shook his head in agreement. "That's true. Even if someone had told us, it would have sounded crazy, so instead I followed you in your quest for revenge. The Ghouls, the crime, the killing." Rishid's honey colored eyes locked on Marik. "Do you understand? Since that day I've tried to stay beside you for everything, and I always will. I've seen the worst of you, and I accepted it, so don't hesitate to talk to me. Don't ever think I'll judge you."

Marik's lips parted and his wide eyes stared back at Rishid in surprise because suddenly Marik realized that Rishid already knew, not just his preferences, but knew that it had something to do with Bakura.

He sighed, looking away. "I miss him," Marik said, knowing he didn't have to explain who _he_ was. "I know it's been almost two years and it's stupid. I'm stupid. It doesn't make it hurt any less."

"Talk about it."

Marik sipped his tepid coffee, stalling. "I'm in a bright place, and he visits. We talk a little, and then I wake up."

"What do you talk about?"

"Not much. He keeps telling me he's still near."

"Maybe his spirit is trying to assure you so you can move on."

"I've thought of that." Marik took another drink. "But that doesn't _feel_ right. I'm sure I'm missing something. Maybe I'm forgetting parts of our conversations when I wake up?"

"Have you asked him specifically why he appears every night?"

Marik chuckled. "Bakura's not exactly forthcoming with information."

Rishid shrugged. "What do you have to lose?"

Marik smiled into his cup. "Good point."

Rishid stood up, washed his dishes, and dried his hands on a dishtowel. "I need to go."

Marik half turned from his spot to look at Rishid. "Say hi to Ishizu for me."

Rishid nodded, and turned to leave.

"Hey Rishid?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. I mean, really, thank you. It's nice . . . to have someone to talk to."

Rishid smiled, gave Marik one last nod, and left for the museum where he and Ishizu worked. Marik forced himself to eat, washing his own dishes afterward.

After breakfast, Marik went to his computer and turned it on. He had three online classes. Nothing driven towards a specific degree, Marik simply wanted to learn about the world above ground that he'd always coveted, although he favored psychology classes. There was something haunting yet fascinating about learning about how people coped with various traumas. A shudder sometimes ran down his spine when Marik realized just how normal he was when compared to other children who dissociated.

There was a sort of relief in it - to realize he wasn't the only one. It made him feel less alone in the world; however, it still couldn't compare to the level at which _Bakura_ understood him. Millennium Items, Shadow Games, and a need for vengeance that justified countless atrocities. Those weren't topics for a therapist, and even Rishid didn't understand the anger Marik had felt.

Marik sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. A tangible ghost couldn't haunt Marik half as well as his own thoughts. He finished his class work, stretched, and went to the kitchen to make peanut stew.

As soon as Rishid returned, they ate. Their conversation was amicable; however Rishid's tone never lost its air of formality around Marik, as if Rishid continued to see himself as a servant. Marik tried to lighten the mood, telling a funny story he'd seen online. Rishid laughed, but with reserved dignity, and Marik sighed. He excused himself to his own room and dropped to his bed. He tried reading, tried checking social media on his phone, tried anything to avoid sleeping and dreaming, but he was in his soul room before he realized he'd fallen asleep.

Usually Marik leaned against a pillar and stared at the light surrounding his room, but this night he sat on the bed, waiting for Bakura. His eyes jumped around, trying to see what direction Bakura would appear from, but he never saw anything.

A pair of thin, pale arms wrapped around Marik's waist from behind. Silent as always, Bakura brushed Marik's hair over his shoulder and kissed the base of his neck.

"Bakura?"

"Who else?"

"What do you want, Bakura?"

"I want to see your back." He tugged the shirt off of Marik, pushing Marik down against the mattress. His fingers and lips hovered above each god card engraving.

Marik sighed. He _craved_ Bakura's touch. No one else could touch Marik's scars, but Marik would all but beg Bakura to look at them. "Damnit Bakura."

"What?" Bakura asked.

Marik couldn't see the smirk, but he heard the mirth in Bakura's voice. "I can't think when you do that. It's distra-ah!" Marik's words dissolved into gasps as Bakura licked up his spine.

"You think too much. That's why I'm distracting you."

The warmth from Bakura's chest pressed against Marik's scarred flesh as he began to massage his lips along the nape of Marik's neck. His hands slid down Marik's arms, ending with his palms overlapping the tops of Marik's hands as Marik fisted the sheets.

"But I need to know why you're here."

"I'm waiting on you to bring me back."

"It's impossible. I don't have access to the Shadow Realm without the Rod."

"Yes, I had thought about that a long time ago."

"Bakura-"

"Shhh, Marik, just let me make you feel good for a night. We'll talk about it afterward." Bakura continued to lap at Marik's sand-colored skin, grinding into Marik's clothed backside.

Marik moaned, panting from the heat of Bakura's body, the closeness of it, the deliberate attention of Bakura's tongue, the way his hands squeezed Marik's hands. Bakura moved as if they were a _ba_ and _ka_ joining to become an _ahk_ , and Marik forgot the advice Rishid gave him, or why he even wanted to know the answers. He curved his back up, pressing closer to Bakura, and gasped each time Bakura pushed his hips forward.

Marik's patience only held out for a few minutes. He flipped Bakura, tearing clothing away from limbs. Bakura didn't complain, only mirrored the fervor in which he disrobed Marik.

"Take me. Now."

Marik smiled at Bakura's husky, commanding tone. He pressed Bakura's legs out until they made a white V in the air, and shoved inside of him. Bakura gave a bark of pleasure, closing his eyes and pressing his head against the pillow below him.

Marik hunched over him, brass strands of hair hanging down as if reaching out to touch Bakura's pale stomach. Everything in Marik's mind, worry, stress, grief, was lost to heat and tightness. He watched Bakura arch skyward as he stroked himself, legs still splayed wide. Digging his knees into the mattress, Marik leaned back a touch to change his angle of penetration, pressing upward instead of straight in.

Bakura bowed his back into a tall arch, screaming loud, successive shouts of pleasure that blurred into a single erotic song. His hair clung to his sweat dampened face, and his cheeks flushed dark coral, and Marik almost came at the mere sight of him, but held back a moment to watch Bakura climax first.

They stared at each other, panting and sweating. Marik felt a hundred questions itching across his tongue, but couldn't voice a single one. Bakura grinned up at him. "Are you calm now?"

Marik shrugged, their lower bodies still connected and his arms propping him above Bakura's chest. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Now listen to what I've been trying to tell you, and stop taking my meaning figuratively." Bakura toyed with the golden choker hugging Marik's throat. "I'm right here." He dropped his hand and thumbed the bangles on Marik's upper arms. "And here." Next he traced the gold along Marik's wrists. "I've been here the whole time." Finally, he smirked and teased Marik's earrings, one and then the other. "Do you understand now?"

Marik gasped, sitting up in bed, still panting from his dream. Out the window dawn was only a dull, red spark trying to catch the horizon aflame. Marik closed his eyes, pressing his lips against his left bracelet and whispering into the gold. "You fucking asshole." He held the collar at his throat. "You brilliant, fucking asshole."


	2. Chapter 2

Marik pushed himself out of bed, throwing on yesterday's jeans and a black tee before walking out of his bedroom. He didn't bother showering and left his hair bed-tousled. He marched to the kitchen and found Rishid setting a kettle on the store for his morning's tea.

"Marik?" he asked when he noticed Marik. "Are you okay?

"I'm good," Marik said, running his fingers through his hair, mind racing, heart struggling not to skip beats. "But there's something I have to do. Something . . ." Marik held his breath for a moment, the words about to come from his mouth felt leaden. He licked his lips. "I have to go back to the tomb. I need to look through some of the books in Father's old library."

Rishid blanched, eyes round. "Why?"

Marik rubbed his left bracelet. "Because . . . he's here. He wasn't trying to comfort me. He was trying to tell me that he's literally still with me." Marik flashed the gold on his wrists up for Rishid to see. "Somehow that tricky bastard used the Ring to transfer a piece of his soul into my jewelry during Battle City without me knowing." Marik gave Rishid a weak, helpless smile. "He's here and I can bring him back. I can save him. I just need to go back to that godsforsaken tomb and find a spell with which to do it."

Rishid looked thoughtful. He nodded. "Okay, let me call Ishizu and explain why I won't be into work for a few days."

"I mean, it's not like we have to leave this morning." Marik toyed with his bracelets. He couldn't seem to stop since discovering that Bakura was within the gold. "We could wait until your next day off."

"No." Rishid shook his head, a little smile on his lips. "This is important. Ishizu will forgive me for calling in."

Without thinking about his actions, Marik threw his arms around Rishid in a hug. He gave his brother a quick squeeze and then pulled away, as if he could hear Bakura's sardonic laughter mocking Marik's sentimental action. "I guess I'll go pack, then."

A few hours later they were on the road. Marik would have preferred his motorcycle, but there were supplies to bring and desert sand to traverse. In the end, they were stuck with Rishid's dune buggy.

The vehicle raced across the desert. Hot wind screamed into their faces and stole their breath straight from their lips. They wore sunglasses to protect their eyes, but it wasn't the sun Marik felt like he needed protection from. Each mile brought them closer to the darkness of Marik's childhood and the thought turned the bile in his stomach sour.

Marik thumbed the choker around his neck. The cool gold gave him confidence as they sped deeper into sand-filled nothing. They only stopped once to eat sandwiches, stretch their legs, piss in the sand, and refill the buggy with a canister of petrol.

During the second half of their trip, Marik dozed. He felt Bakura's presence as the buggy hurled them through the desert, and he was eager for a physical reunion - until the buggy stopped and Marik remembered that he'd have to walk through the dark in order to earn such a reunion. Marik jerked awake, knowing that they were back at the place that was never home. Marik jumped out of the buggy, walking to the entrance the beckoned him down into the earth and staring at it with disgust.

"Here." Rishid handed Marik a flashlight. He held a giant, battery powered torch with a light as big as the headlights on the buggy.

Marik grinned. "Thanks . . . I didn't even think-"

"Hey, what are big brothers for?"

Marik's smile widened. It was the first time Rishid ever used the term for himself, and Marik liked hearing it from him. "I'm glad you're here."

Rishid shrugged. "Let's go bail your partner out of jail."

Marik laughed at the joke. It was enough to break the tension and give him enough courage to take that first, agonizing step down into the dark. Marik sighed as familiarity assaulted him. The smells more than anything, dust, earth, faint spices, and something old and undeniably tomb-associated all filled his brain with memories - some good, most horrible.

"There is _one_ thing I want to do before we find the library," Marik said.

Rishid turned his head towards Marik. "Do you want to pay her a visit?"

Marik nodded his head, and instead of going straight, towards the living quarters and the deeper chambers, they turned left towards the tomb keeper catacombs. The walls, floor, and ceiling were rough earth and rock, hand dug and not stone-laid like the rest of the tomb. This was the area where the tomb keepers laid their own to rest - to serve the pharaohs in the afterlife as they served them while alive.

The front of the catacombs was nothing more than pits dug into the walls. Here, the corpses of servants, hastily mummified, lay stacked on top of older remains, and even bones, from generation after generation of shoving dead body on top of dead body. Marik clenched his jaw, angry, angry, _angry_ that _this_ was the fate meant for Rishid after he died - wrapped in a few strips of linen and dumped like garbage in a heap. It wasn't right. It had never been right. Rishid was worth more than that. How were they suppose to enjoy the afterlife crammed together like that?

"Rishid," Marik whispered.

"What is it?"

"I know you're older but . . . if something ever happens to me, please make sure I'm cremated - don't let Ishizu bury me here."

"Cremated, but Marik-"

"Don't worry, Rishid." Marik smiled in order to comfort Rishid. "I've risen from the fires of Ra once before. I'm sure my spirit will make it through the Duat even if it's burned. Besides . . . oblivion is better than being underground. Even in death . . . I couldn't bear it."

Rishid sighed. "Fine. Then I want to be cremated as well."

"But-"

"I think you're right," Rishid interrupted him. "Beneath the ground . . . isn't how I want to spend eternity either."

"Okay." Marik shook his head. "Deal. We'll both be cremated."

They left the servant catacombs and reached a larger, better maintained area. Here, higher ranking tomb-keepers, their wives, and any children that had died young, had been laid to rest. Further back would be the sarcophaguses, where _he_ would be, where Marik was supposed to spend eternity as well. Yes, better for him to burn.

But Marik didn't need to go to the back chamber. He walked to a certain grave carved into the rock wall. He and Rishid knelt before it, staring at the magic amulets and protection charms Ishizu placed there eighteen years ago. They stayed silent, praying to the dead, and then Marik sighed.

"She died . . . bringing me into the world, and for what? I'm still a mess. Even without an alter ego I'm a mess."

"I think she'd be proud of you."

Marik snorted.

"I'm not saying that for your comfort, Marik."

"One day, I hope I'm the kind of person who can allow myself to believe you when you say that." Marik stood up. He touched the cover of his mother's grave, knowing it'd be the last time he'd ever get to visit her like this. "Until then, I'll continue to try to figure out what it means to be a decent person."

He said _decent_ and not _good_ on purpose. Marik didn't think he'd ever be as kind or optimistic as Yugi, but he did want to become better than he was as the leader of the Ghouls. Rishid led the way with his flashlight and they went back to the tomb proper. Even with the flashlight the gloom felt like a woolen blanket smothering them. It wasn't as hot underground as the surface, but sweat dribbled down Marik's throat and back, making his scars itch and burn. He tightened his hold on his flashlight, refusing to scratch the marks, refusing to even acknowledge the pain, though it ate at his thoughts.

"Everything looks the same," Marik said, trying to push his mind away from the discomfort of his body.

"Brown, dark, and dusty." Rishid laughed, but Marik could tell that he wasn't thrilled to be there either. Why would he be? Their father was always cruelest to Rishid, beatings, lashings, and more . . . creative punishments.

 _Don't think about it._

 _You can't just push it away._

 _But now's not the time to think about it._

 _Then when?_

 _Any other time. When you're above ground._

Marik exhaled. "Hey Rishid?"

"Yeah?" His voice sounded small in the dark. It hardly echoed down the hall as they descended ever downward into the earth.

"Got any good jokes?"

"So a couple go to a museum and see a painting of a naked woman with fig leaf covering her sacred parts. The woman goes onto the next painting, but the husband simply stands there. When his wife returns she asks 'what are you doing?' and he answers, 'waiting for autumn'."

Marik smacked his forehead. "That was so damn lame."

"I'm sorry. It was the first joke I thought of. Someone told it at the museum last week."

"The only funny part was your use of the term 'sacred parts'."

"So what's green, fuzzy, and would kill you if it fell out of a tree?"

Marik stared at him a bit. "What?"

"A pool table."

"Okay. Nevermind. You can stop now. I'm sorry I asked."

"But I know more."

"No. That's okay." And it was. Rishid's bad jokes were _so damn bad_ that it made the dark a little less dark. Marik smiled, thinking of how good Rishid was at that, making things seem better. "You know, I'm not even sure I would have survived this place without you and Ishizu."

"You would have survived," Rishid said in a quiet voice.

"In any case, when we get out of here, I owe you a beer."

Rishid laughed. "I'll probably need it."

Marik focused the the light in his hand. "Yeah. Beer for everyone. Dammit, Bakura - I hope he realizes the crap-storm we're sailing through to get his ass back into the world."

Rishid grinned. "You know him, he'd just claim that you owed him as much."

Marik snorted. "That is far too likely."

They fell into a comfortable silence. Their footsteps haunted the old, empty hallways as their flashlights and shadows violated the walls.

 _I can do this._

 _I can do this._

 _I_ am _doing this_.

 _Just a little longer._

 _Fuck this darkness. I am Marik Fucking Ishtar and nothing gets in the way of what I want._

 _When this is over I'm going to slap Bakura._

 _And then kiss him._

Marik's scattered thoughts kept him company through each step. His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth and Marik tried to relax, breathing deeply. He stayed, more or less, composed . . . until they passed a specific room. Marik froze, unconsciously grabbing his shoulder with his free hand and wincing.

Rishid's hand rested on top of Marik's. "That was long ago, Marik."

"I know," Marik whispered. He knew, but it didn't stop his skin from crawling, nor did it stop his gut from twisting into knots as memories flooded his mind - memories that once belonged to his alter ego, but now were for him alone. He couldn't seem to lift his feet past the room, the Initiation room.

"Bakura's waiting for you."

Marik's lilac eyes jerked towards Rishid. His eyes burned with unshed tears, but Marik blinked them away, remembering that Bakura hung from his wrists and ears and would scoff if he saw Marik in tears. That gave him some strength, enough to step forward.

The deeper they marched into the tomb, the darker it seemed to grow. Each echo of footsteps made Marik want to scream - to bolt back into the sunlight.

But Bakura was waiting for him.

They also had to be more careful of traps as they descended. As a child, Marik could run down the hallways and to the deepest levels permitted without his feet catching a single weighted tile or trip wire. Tomb Keepers learned how to avoid traps before they learned how to crawl. It was necessary.

Once, a man triggered one of the ancient traps, but the spring mechanism had fallen into disrepair and the blade on cut half as deep as it should have. Thus, instead of a quick death, the man's bowels spilled from his stomach, leaving him alive to crawl along the floor, searching for help he'd never reach in time. When they found him, he had a path of blood and intestines trailing behind him all the way back to the trap.

Marik shuddered at the memory. His father had brought them all to stare at the body as a reminder of what would happen if they stepped carelessly. Marik remembered crying, remembered turning away only to have his father grab each side of his head and jerk his face back to the corpse, _forcing Marik to look_.

Marik's knees slammed against the stone floor. He started sobbing before he had a chance to control himself.

"Marik?" Rishid knelt beside him, holding Marik's shoulders.

"I forgot. I forgot. I forgot. D-dammit . . . dammit."

"Marik? What did you remember?"

"T-that man. That man in the trap. I didn't want to see. I was like six, Rishid - _I didn't want to see that -_ but father made me look. He made me look, so I looked with my eyes, but I didn't see anything. I made it go away, but now I remember . . ."

"Marik, that was long ago."

"You keep _saying_ that-" Marik jerked away from Rishid's hold, "-but it doesn't _feel_ like a long time ago. It feels like it's happening now!"

Marik's voice stabbed through the hall, distorting as it traveled until it sounded inhuman. He stared into the darkness before him and it was endless.

"Marik - do you want to go back?"

"No!" Marik jerked himself back to his feet. "Gods, no." Marik wiped the tears off of his cheeks, noticing how a few drops beaded on the gold at his wrists. He stared at the image, tears and gold. "I came here for a reason and I'm not turning back."

"I can go on my own, find a book that will help and bring it to you. I can-"

Marik silenced Rishid with a hand pressed near Rishid's shoulder. "No. I have to do this. It's enough that you're here with me. I know your memories are worse."

Rishid shrugged, forcing a smile although his skin was pale and his expression looked ill. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Marik sighed, feeling sick himself. He turned away, looking back into the endless, black hallway. "I wish I was half as strong as you, Rishid. It should have always been you. You should have been the one to bear the Rod, to have the Initiation, and to help the Pharaoh. You wouldn't have gone crazy - you wouldn't have killed . . ."

"You don't know that, Marik."

Marik nodded. "Yes, I do. Yes, I do." He patted Rishid's back and walked onward. "Come on, Bakura might be an ageless spirit trapped in gold, but we're not. Let's hurry so we can get out of here."

 _I have to do this._

 _I have to do this._

But Marik couldn't stop _remembering_ things.

 _Stop . . ._

 _Stop . . ._

 _Don't think . . ._

The stones and dust seemed to blur, to unravel into unreal things. Marik tried to focus on the light from their flashlights, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful electric light. He tried to focus on Rishid. He tried to think about his favorite Massari song, but he couldn't remember any of the lyrics, neither the English nor the Arabic lines.

He could remember a man's blood smeared against stone floors. He could remember the knife carving into his back like a stone slab instead of a child. He could remember Rishid covered in blood and split open by a whip's lashes, but he couldn't remember the _fucking_ name of that godforsaken song.

Marik didn't register how hard he shook, but part of his brain understood that he was shaking because of the way his flashlight beam quivered down the hallway even as Rishid's stayed arrow-straight.

They reached the final flight of stairs. The stairs that would take them to the last hallway and then the library containing all the lost and hidden magic of Ancient Egypt. Marik held the wall to his left as he descended down the stairs.

 _We're so close._

 _It will be worth it when I'm punching Bakura in the face._

 _That stupid, arrogant bastard, putting me through all this._

"Hey, Rishid? Anymore awful jokes? I think I could use one right about now."

"Huh?" Rishid's voice sounded lost, as if he wasn't sure where they were.

Marik frowned, glancing over to him. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I . . . I'm fine," he whispered in a dry voice.

Marik looked down the stairs. They were close to halfway down. "Did something happen here?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You always tell me to talk about it."

"It was a long time ago."

"But I bet it doesn't feel like a long time ago." Marik stopped, staring at Rishid's back as he continued to step down. "Rishid, please."

"Marik, please . . . I'll tell you when we're above ground, but not here."

"Oh . . ." Marik felt stupid as the syllable left his mouth. He felt helpless against the past. "Okay." He started back down the stairs.

Rishid said one sentence, and it echoed against every stone. "He hit her."

Marik looked at him again. "Rishid?"

"I shouldn't . . ." Rishid's face crumpled, Marik couldn't ever remember seeing such open grief on his brother's face. "But it was my fault."

Marik stayed quiet. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse to encourage him to speak since he'd promised to wait until they were outside to ask questions.

Rishid stopped and stared at Marik. "Once I was playing and I ran down here. I didn't know it was forbidden, and Master Ishtar got mad. He went to strike me but . . . she jumped in the way and he hit her instead, right in the stomach where you were still growing. Then he was mad that she shielded me, so he hit her more. She had to remind him that she was carrying his child before he stopped."

Marik's hands clenched. "Wait, do you mean mother? Are you saying that bastard _hit our mother_?"

Rishid shook, skin pale. "It was my fault."

All the rage, all of it, returned. Marik seethed inside. He felt the darkness surge within him. It was almost enough for him to call the Shadow Realm, perhaps summon his father's damned spirit to him and kill him for a second time - without an alter ego to blame.

Rishid shook his head as if reading Marik's thought. "I shouldn't have told you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing." Marik struggled to keep his voice under control, to not lash out because of the anger radiating from his very core. "Stop blaming yourself."

Rishid opened his mouth to say something. He shook so hard that he dropped his electric torch. They both jumped as the light bounced down the stairs - hitting a weighted tile on the third bounce.

" _Fuck_ ," Rishid swore when they heard something click within the walls.

Marik didn't have time to swear. He grabbed Rishid and dragged him down the stairs, trying to reach the hall before whatever trap they set off had a chance to kill them. The strange clicking sound resonated through walls again, and then both walls and floor quaked. They lost their footing, crashing down the last few steps as rock and debris started falling.


	3. Chapter 3

Marik's breath rasped in his throat. He couldn't shake the panic squeezing his chest; he couldn't catch a proper breath. It was dark. The sort of sheer and absolute dark of being buried underground in a tomb. Marik fumbled for his flashlight, cutting his hands against the jagged edges of broken rocks. He'd lost it when he's grabbed Rishid. He didn't even check himself for injuries. The need for a flashlight was a buzzing in his mind, loud and tangible, condensing his existence into a single, all encompassing necessity to escape the dark veiling his eyes.

Somewhere beside him, Rishid cursed, clanking something against the stone.

The sound of Rishid swearing made something snap back into place in Marik's mind. Rishid wasn't the type to lose composure, and the desperate tone in each profane word had Marik frightened for him. "Rishid?" Marik groped along the jagged chunks of rock that littered the floor after the trap had caused some sort of cave-in. When he found Rishid's arm, he squeezed it. "Are you hurt?"

"The bulb broke."

"But are you hurt?"

"I-I don't know. No? But, the light-"

Marik realized the smacking sound was Rishid hitting the broken flashlight against the ground. He winced at the knowledge - one light lost, the other one destroyed, and he and Rishid completely fucked.

"Damn the gods!" Rishid swore again.

Marik threw his arms around Rishid. "Hey, hey, _akhi,_ listen to me. We're okay. We're okay."

Marik realized that, more than the dark, he feared Rishid breaking down. Rishid had always been a solid, stoic pillar at Marik's side. Hearing his breath panic in the dark, feeling his body shake in Marik's arms, it was too much, and Marik found himself setting aside his own fears in order to assuage his brother's fears.

"Marik, we hate the dark."

"Let's see if we can find my flashlight. I dropped it."

"There are more traps down here."

"Only if we go out into the hall. We should be safe if we stay close to the stairwell."

He felt Rishid nodding, and they broke their hug in order to feel around the stones and rubble again. Marik still couldn't breathe. It felt like an entire sarcophagus sat on his chest and his hands shook as much as Rishid's, but he was calm enough to think about what he was doing instead of grasping blindly in the dark. He found the stairwell entrance, but felt nothing except large chunks of stone as high as he could reach.

"Dammit," Marik swore to himself.

"What is it?" Rishid asked.

Marik leaned against the broken stones. Hot tears stung his eyes but he didn't shed them.

"Marik?"

"We're trapped."

"What?"

"The entrance is blocked by debris. We're trapped."

"Then we're dead," Rishid whispered.

A few of the tears spilled down Marik's burning cheeks when he heard the quiet words. An intrusive, ringing silence followed as they stood there. Then, Marik heard Rishid shifting to the wall of broken rock, trying the move some of the pieces, but Marik already knew the stone was too heavy for them to shift. His hand absentmindedly reached up to the choker at his throat. The gold was cool and confident, it was fitting that Bakura held such a form.

 _My guardian fallen angel_ , Marik thought the words as he stroked the gold at his throat.

Marik punched a fragment of stone. "Rishid, no. We're not going to die in this fucking tomb. We're getting Bakura, and then we're getting the fuck out of here."

Rishid's voice was calm, but slow and defeated. "Marik . . . how?"

"All we have to do is bring back Bakura." Marik looked in the direction he guessed Rishid to be, seeing nothing but fuzzy darkness. "He was the Thief King. There wasn't a tomb in Egypt he couldn't break into - and that means he'll be equally adept at breaking out of them."

"That . . . you're right, but Marik we can't see."

As if he needed reminding. Marik's brain was still wailing at him because of the dark, but he didn't want to show the insecurity to Rishid. "The library has spare torches, right?"

"Yes. I kept extras stocked there."

"Then we just need to get to the library. It's one hallway . . . one stupid hallway."

"We can't see the traps in the dark."

Marik closed his eyes, still touching gold, still forcing himself not to lose his fragile composure. "Okay . . . think. There's a hidden switch on the right wall, a few more weighted tiles scattered along the center of the hall, and one more trip wire about halfway down the hall. So . . ."

Marik let go of his choker in order to reach out his hands and feel his way to the left-side wall. He stumbled over a rock, ripping his jeans and scraping his knees against jagged debris. Marik bit his tongue when he hit the floor. The taste of iron filled Marik's mouth. He growled, anger overriding his fear, and pushed himself up, reaching out once again. His searching hands kept expecting the feel of the wall but received nothing for their out-stretched efforts, and when Marik finally did reach the cold, textured masonry, the sensation shocked him, making him pull away before reaching out a second time.

Marik swallowed the metallic taste from his mouth and spoke again. "If we just hold onto the left wall, we can feel our way down the hall and reach the library. our biggest problem will be going slow enough so that we can feel the trip wire without setting off another trap. After that, it'll be a matter of digging in the dark for a torch."

Rishid's footsteps shuffled against the ground. He stepped lighter and more carefully than Marik had, so he didn't fall. "Only if you let me go first and stay several paces behind. That way, if I set off the trip wire by accident-"

"No Rishid." He tried to keep his voice low and calm, but only managed to sound angry.

"Master Marik, it's is my duty-"

"Don't give me that crap, Rishid! I"m not your _master_ anymore I'm your little brother! And stop trying to _sacrifice_ yourself. You, Ishizu, and myself - all of us, we promised after Battle City that we'd all be together, so you don't get to die!"

"Marik."

Unlike Marik, Rishid's voice was calm once again. Marik couldn't see, but his mind had no trouble picturing the familiar, reassuring expression on Rishid's face. "This is my fault, so I should be the one to take the risks."

"Stop blaming yourself for everything!" Marik's scream crashed against the walls. He imagined it causing another cave-in - an easy thing to imagine in the omnipresent black. "You dropped the flashlight, but that doesn't make this your fault. It's me - _me_. I'm the one that wanted to come here. It's my fault we're back in this - this _hell_." Marik bent down, rolling up the cuffs of his pants so that he'd be able to feel the thin wire when he pressed into it with his leg. "I'm going first. You can stay back a safe distance if you want, but . . ." Marik frowned all his anger drained out of him leaving him empty, exhausted, and scared. "It'll be easier going through the dark if you're beside me, _ahki_."

Marik hadn't used the term _ahki_ since before his initiation. At first, he'd been saying it in order to soothe Rishid, to keep him from panicking, but that last time he'd truly meant it - _my brother_.

There was a paused, and perhaps Rishid nodded. "Okay, Marik. I'll trust you to lead us, and I'll be right beside you."

Marik sighed, relief softening the fear. "Thanks, Rishid."

He tried to laugh, but it was forced. "This is absurd. Bakura owes us an entire case of beer."

Marik laughed. It hurt, in its own way. Laughing in the tomb at that moment of despair made him feel like a piece of his soul died, but Marik sucked in a breath, to remind himself that he breathed and therefore lived. "You hear that, asshole?" Marik asked the dark, not sure if Bakura could hear him or not. "You owe us a case, and it better not be lousy beer. Get us a case of Stella - in _bottles_ because fuck canned beer."

"Fuck canned beer," Rishid repeated, as if closing out a prayer.

Marik pressed his burning, sweating forehead against the stones, breathing. "Ready?"

Rishid touched Marik's left shoulder. "I'm ready. Only a hallway, right?"

"Yeah. One, stupid, little hallway."

It was the longest hallway that ever existed. The sort one ran down in a nightmare, ever stretching, ever expanding, never ending, _never ending_. Marik slid his right foot several centimeters along the stone floor. The _shhuff_ noise his foot made sounded like the shambling steps of ghouls trudging through the desert sands, but Marik didn't dare go faster or raise his foot. The trip wires didn't need a lot of pressure to trigger their intended traps. He needed to feel the single thread with his bare ankle the moment he reached it or he and Rishid would truly die - and with them, Bakura's only chance of escaping his golden prison would also die.

 _I won't let that happen._

 _To any of us._

 _Bakura . . . Rishid . . ._

 _Me . . ._

Marik's throat itched. He reached for his canteen, but that, too, had been lost when he tumbled down the stairs.

"Are you okay, Marik?"

"Lost my water."

"Wait. I have mine."

Marik stopped. His pulse dashed through his veins. He didn't like standing still in the darkness. He prefered to move. Doing something at least took concentration, but as he waited, the darkness seemed to sink into his skin.

"Here."

Marik felt pressure against his arm. He reached out in the dark until his fingers touched metal. Marik only sipped what he needed and then handed the canteen back, giving Rishid time to drink as well. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

They went on. With every shift of weight Marik expected to hit the wire - both hoping for it to get it over with, and dreading it because if he wasn't careful he'd kill them. It felt as if they'd walked miles, past the hallway, past the library, into the Shadow Realm where they'd shuffle through the darkness for eternity, until they went mad and tore each other to pieces, and still they'd be damned to shuffle ever onward in the dark.

 _Stop it._

 _Focus, damnit._

 _Quit being a bitch and do this!_

 _Would Bakura hesitate if it was your soul_?

Marik thought of it, and the answer was no. Bakura's entire life had been burned and smelted into the Items. Nevertheless, Bakura had faced Marik's darker personality, _knowing_ that meant facing Ra, _knowing_ he himself might burn.

Marik flexed his right wrist, feeling his cuff restrict around his skin. Marik closed his eyes- they were useless in the dark- and focused on each step. He gasped out loud when the faintest hint of pressure touched his ankle. "Here," he gasped.

"Good job, Marik," Rishid praised, his voice sounding relieved.

Marik backed away a touch, and then stepped over the wire one foot at a time with painful care. Then he moved forward enough to give Rishid enough room to mimic him. Once they were both past the trap, they panted as if having just ran, sweat soaking into their clothes. It didn't stop them from embracing each other and letting out soft cheers.

"I didn't think we could really do it."

"Damn, bro, have a little faith in me." Marik laughed again, but this time he felt alive instead of dead. He felt like he could do anything, including bring his dead lover back into the world. "Let's hurry. It should be a clean shot from here to the library."

They still held the wall so they didn't wander into the other traps, but as long as their hands trailed along the stones, they could walk faster. Sooner than expected, Marik reached the adjacent wall and followed that to the library doorway.

"Stay here, Marik. I remember where I kept the touches."

"Okay . . . hey Rishid?"

"Yes?"

"Hurry up. I'm freaking the fuck out." He said it like a joke, and meant it as a joke, but at the same time, he was serious.

He only had to wait a moment until Rishid spoke up. "Found them - so the flint should be . . . here."

Marik heard the sound of flint striking steel, then saw sparks - beautiful, beautiful, beautiful sparks - and moments later they had a torch burning in Rishid's hands. The tears flowed down Marik's cheeks and he didn't try to stop them or hold them back. It felt good to let it out, the pent up tension, the panic, the fear, it all washed down his face as he stared down at the flames.

"Are you okay, Marik?" Rishid handed him the torch.

Marik took it; he wanted to kiss it. "I'm great now." He wiped at the tears, only managing to spread them across his face and smear the dust and dirt on his cheeks.

Marik walked to the back of the library. The walls held shelf after shelf of old papyrus scrolls and spellbooks. Marik knew exactly which book he needed. He kneeled to the bottom of the last shelf, removing the pile of scrolls and setting them on the floor. He pushed a certain spot at the back of the shelf pressed inward, revealing a hidden chamber. Inside were three books that Marik had only ever seen once, after his initiation, a reward for surviving. Marik took the smallest, simplest of the three.

 _I'm going to see Bakura._

The thought struck him. He'd done all this in order to reunite with his former partner, but it hadn't sunk in until that precise moment. Marik hugged the book to his chest and walked back to the center of the room.

Rishid busied himself lighting several more torches while Marik found the spell he needed. It was a simple spell, too simple for what it did. Marik set the book aside and removed his jewelry; bracelets, bangles, choker. The last thing Marik removed was his earings. They were the only memento he had kept of his father - besides the scars on his back - and even after Marik's initial guilt about his father's murder had settled into an intense, sorrowful bitterness, a new sort of hatred, Marik had kept the earrings, and worn them.

They'd disappear with the spell.

That was the price, the vessel of the soul became the corporeal vessel, the body. It wasn't a hard decision. There were no doubts in Marik's mind about what he wanted.

It still hurt to set the earrings down with the rest of the jewelry.

Marik exhaled, calming himself. The spell wasn't complex, but he had to pronounce every syllable perfectly - the tone, the diction, the rhythm - every detail had to be flawless in order for the magic to actually work.

Rishid sat in the corner, silent but watching. He nodded at Marik, encouraging him. Marik nodded back and started to chant.

The gold stretched and reformed, reaching longer, then wider, then merging together. Marik ignored the miracle, focusing on nothing except the words and how he pronounced them.

The shape finally started to thicken, to resemble something human, and then to resemble Bakura. He lay in the dust of old stones, white, naked, and far too peaceful with closed eyes and a relaxed jaw.

As soon as the last syllable left Marik's lips, Bakura jerked up, gulping for air and wheezing, coughing and doubling over while holding his throat. After a moment he started breathing, hard and heavy, but real breaths instead of choking attempts. He groaned in pain, curling into a fetal position and clenching both jaw and fists.

Marik didn't dare touch him, allowing the process to work itself through.

After another minute, Bakura lay quiet against the stone. His hair sprayed all around him. His scarlet eyes darted across the room. With a wince, he turned and saw Marik. Their eyes met and held. They didn't speak or move, just looked at each other. Marik kept waiting for Bakura to speak, to say something facetious.

"I didn't know . . ." Bakura whispered.

The raw emotion in his voice startled Marik.

Bakura sat up. All the scattered white dropped down and flowed along his shoulders and chest. He reached out, wiped Marik's cheeks dry with the palm of his hand. "I didn't know it'd be so hard. I didn't mean-" he cupped Marik's cheeks, hands gentle and warm with life. Bakura closed his eyes, kissing Marik. His lips moved with a timid grace that was wholly alien to Bakura's typical behavior. Regardless, Marik disappeared into that kiss. It lit him up from inside, brighter than the torch still burning in his right hand. Bakura pulled away. "I didn't mean to put you through that, Marik."

"You owe us beer, asshole," Marik whispered.

"I owe you my life."

"You sacrificed that for me, once. I'll take the beer instead."

"I'll steal you the best in Egypt."

Bakura grabbed him again, kissing with a little more passion. Marik slipped his tongue into Bakura's mouth. He reached out with his free hand in order to glide his fingers along the newly created flesh of Bakura's body.

Rishid cleared his throat, reminding them of his presence.

Bakura pulled away. "What's up, Baldy?"

"An entire case, Bakura."

"I'll get one for each of us." Bakura smirked. He slammed Marik down onto the ground. He kissed Marik's mouth, breathing hard through his nose.

Marik pulled away. "Bakura, the torch."

He chuckled. "Oooops, got a little carried away there."

"So - you still good enough to be called the King of Thieves?" Marik grinned. His hands and knees stung from scrapes and cuts, his muscles ached, he was exhausted, but he was awake and looking up at Bakura. Having that in reality, instead of a dream, was worth the ordeal.

Bakura stood up, his body slender, the lines of sharp bone sticking out from ghost-white skin. He rested a hand on his hipbone, proud and confident, undeterred by the lack of clothing. "For _this_ hell-hole? It'll be child's play."

Marik stood up, dusting himself off and grinning at Bakura. "Then get us the fuck out of here. I never want to see this place again."


	4. Chapter 4

They found an old cloth and cut it up to fashion a sort of shenti for Bakura to wear. Dressed, more or less, Bakura looked around the room with a thoughtful expression that turned into a boisterous, pompous grin as he slipped behind a certain bookshelf in the back of the room.

"You tomb keepers don't know anything." Bakura teased, pressing a stone and then backing away.

The wall rumbled. For a moment, Marik braced himself for another trap, but instead of a trap, a narrow slit of wall slid to the side and revealed stairs going down.

"Fuck that." Marik winced. "I'm not going _lower_. Find a better way."

Bakura exhaled, hair falling into his face as he planted his hands into his hips. "Marik, it goes down at first, but then it goes back up. Shut up and let's go."

"You don't know if it goes back up or not!" Marik pointed his torch to the new entrance. "For all we know that leads down into another trap!"

"No, it doesn't. I know."

"Yeah? How the hell do you know?"

Bakura's face paled, something Marik thought impossible with a complexion as white as his. He looked into the shadows. "Because . . . this was the last one they ever built."

"Who?" Rishid asked.

"My family, the villagers of Kul Elna. This was the last tomb they built before they started robbing." Bakura reached out his hand, gracing his fingers down the stones. "They used sand and dull saws to hew these stones. They used their _kas_ to lift and stack them because they were too heavy for people to lift. This passage was built so the Pharaoh's ahk could leave the tomb whenever he wanted."

Marik felt sick with Bakura's words. It was strange, thinking that Bakura's father and uncles and cousins built the prison that would trap Marik as a child, but they had also built an escape route, and for that, Marik was grateful.

He elbowed Bakura. "Fine, we'll take your stupid secret passage, but you're going first. Rishid and I are sick of traps."

Bakura took one of the torches and descended the steps. "Of course I'm going first. I don't trust you idiots _not_ to set off a trap at this point."

Marik snorted. "Well, the stupid traps your family built are useless. It didn't kill either one of us."

"It's not our fault that _your_ family didn't know how to do proper maintenance to keep them functioning!"

"Did you really miss this, Marik?" Rishid asked, following Marik down the stairs.

Marik grinned. "You bet your ass I did. You're awful at arguing, Rishid."

Rishid shrugged. "I would argue more, but unlike some people here, I'm smart enough not to bother. You're too stubborn, Marik."

"Wait a minute." Bakura glanced over his shoulder at Rishid before re-focusing on the stairs. "Did you just insult Marik back while simultaneously implying that I'm dumb?" He snorted. "Congratulations, Baldy, you've grown a spine since I last saw you. It suits you."

Marik couldn't help but grin. The hallway felt like it was slowly closing in on him. The ever-present pressure on his chest had returned the moment they started descending. The torches did little to dispel the terror the darkness incited in Marik; however, since there was no helping walking down this last stretch of dark hell, Marik figured he had the best companions anyone could ever ask for during an anxiety attack. It made the panic almost bearable.

Marik focused on the shape of Bakura's ass as it swished from side to side in nothing but the loose shanti. It was more of an aesthetic fascination rather than a lurid act. Bakura seemed to fit in the dark stairwell, at home in the dark. His white hipbones jutted out and held the fabric in place. His white waist and back vanished behind white hair that looked like rapids coursing down the canyon of Bakura's body.

They reached a round room with five other flights of stairs, all going up. Bakura lifted up his torch and stared at each entranceway, choosing the fourth one.

"How do you know?" Marik asked.

"They keystone was different."

"So do these stairs lead outside?" Marik tried to mask the eager tone in his voice, but it was difficult.

"Eventually."

"How much longer?"

"Soon."

Marik exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Bakura and the stairs instead of the dark. Then he noticed a hairline crack of light above them. The stairs ended and only a final stone wall separated them from the rest of the world.

Bakura gave them a satisfied smirk. "See? It's easy when you're with a pro."

Rishid leaned in a little closer and whispered to Marik. "I think this is the part where he expects you to swoon."

Marik laughed, but Bakura bristled. Snorting, Bakura ran his hands along the dust and stone, searching for the release mechanism.

"Here." He pushed with his slender arms, but the door only slid a few centimeters before freezing back into place. "Dammit," Bakura growled. "You really didn't maintain anything over the centuries."

Marik gripped his torch in one hand and slammed the other against the bricks. "That's because we were too busy maintaining our wounds and our scars. Now shut up and help me pull this damn door open."

"Marik . . . I-"

"Bakura, I just want out of this place!"

Without another word, Bakura and Marik worked to slide the door back a few more centimetres. Rishid jumped in. They had to set their torches on the ground, but there was enough sunlight left in the day to pour into the tomb and help them see. They managed to widen the gap between the door and the wall, but it was slow and tedious going.

"Wait." Bakura shooed both Marik and Rishid back from the door. "I think I can fit."

"It's too small," Rishid said.

That didn't stop Bakura form poking an arm and leg out into the open air. He went more slowly with his body, shifting his scrawny torso and hips to try to wiggle through, exhaling to make himself as small as possible. Bakura's head seemed to be the biggest issue, but he growled and with a quick, final tug of his bodyweight, landed in the sand on the other side of the exit.

Marik pressed his face to the opening. "Are you okay?"

Bakura gave a little growl as he brushed sand from his sweating, bone-white skin. "Grab the door. We'll pull from each side."

He didn't waste anymore time with speaking. Instead, he grabbed the door from the other side as Marik and Rishid did the same on their end. They were able to force the door opened about a third of the way open - enough for Marik and Rishid to squeeze through.

Marik dropped his knees to the sand, ignoring his stinging muscles and scraped up body and enjoying the feeling of the fiery sunlight on his skin. He let his eyelids drop, and the sun burn his face. A breeze shifted the hair around his cheeks, tickling his skin. Then a shadow dimmed the light pushing against Marik's lids, and a hand brushed the loose, gold strands behind Marik's ear.

Marik jerked his eyes opened and saw Bakura kneeling in front of him. He looked . . . concerned. Marik had only seen the expression once on Bakura's countenance, and that was during Battle City right before he allowed himself to lose against the Pharaoh and get attacked by Slifer for Ryou's sake. Marik shrugged. He couldn't say anything at that moment. He'd held out, and held out, and pushed his way through too many memories, too much darkness, and now he was spent - unable to fake a smirk or pretend he had everything under control.

Bakura's lips parted, but no sound escaped. His fingertips drifted to Marik's lips, and he leaned in close, as if he wanted to kiss Marik. Then, Bakura flinched away as if he couldn't follow through with it, leaving Marik kneeling in the sand and dazed. Instead of a kiss, Bakura stood up and offered Marik his hand. They clasped their fingers around each other's wrists and Bakura pulled Marik to his feet.

"Come on." Rishid smiled and turned to walk back to his dune buggy. "Let's go home."

They walked to the buggy. Bakura grunted.

"What's wrong?" Marik asked.

"Nothing."

"You almost sounded hurt."

"Sand's hot. I'm fine."

Marik blinked, realizing Bakura was barefoot. "Bakura!"

Without thinking, Marik scopped Bakura up in his arms. Bakura flung and arm around Marik's shoulders to keep balance. "What the fuck, Marik! I can walk!"

"Your toes already look like they're ready to blister. Shut-up, I'm not setting you down."

"Are you going to carry him over the threshold as well?" Rishid asked.

Bakura's cheeks also looked like they might blister. "I will stab you both! Marik! Down!"

"If you don't stop squirming I'll sling you over my shoulder instead."

Bakura refused to stay docile, fighting his way out of Marik's arms and then dashing towards the buggy several meters ahead of them. He looked both pained and triumphant as he leapt into the backseat, the wind blowing his hair about like a sandstorm.

During the drive home, Rishid played the radio. _Inta Hayati_ \- the song Marik couldn't remember - even played as they reached the city limits.

 _Inta Hayati_

 _Inta Habibi_

 _Min awil nazra_

 _Wsourti nassibi_

They spent most of the trip home laughing. Rishid refused to cease his onslaught of awful jokes. Worse yet, Bakura laughed like a hyena for each one, and Marik wanted to wreck the buggy to end it all, but instead he just rolled his eyes. When they parked, Bakura had to grudgingly allow Marik to help him out of the vehicle. Several blisters kept Bakura from protesting too much about the assistance.

With Bakura's arm slung around his shoulder, because he still insisted on standing by himself, Marik turned and looked at Rishid. " _Ahki_ , what are you doing? Get out of the buggy and let's go inside."

Rishid smiled; he looked happy. "Sorry, Marik, I promised Ishizu I'd personally check in with her when we got home safely."

"What? Don't be ridiculous. I'll call her."

"It's fine. Go on."

"Take a shower first. If she sees you like that she'll scream at both of us."

Rishid sighed, giving Bakura a look. The former dark spirit chuckled. "Marik, you're not taking the hint. Let's go."

Marik opened his mouth to ask _what hint_ , and then he realized that Rishid was leaving them alone for the night. He glanced back at him, and Rishid laughed.

"I'll see you in the morning," Rishid said, restarting the engine and driving away.

Marik stood still for a moment, watching him go. Then he glanced at Bakura. Bakura grinned, and it spread all the way to Marik's face. They hobbled up the stairs to Marik's apartment, Marik sore from falling down the stairs, Bakura's feet blistered.

"Bath?" Marik asked, knowing that standing in the shower would hurt Bakura, and he didn't much feel like standing either.

"I won't say no to one."

Marik went to draw a bath, adding a few drops of sandalwood essential oil. He found Bakura in the kitchen drinking glass after glass of water.

"Bakura, are you okay?"

"Thirsty," Bakura muttered before finishing a final glass. "New body, I guess."

Marik looked around the kitchen, feeling more awkward than he thought he would. "Do you need some dinner . . . or . . ."

Bakura set the glass down and tugged his shenti off. "You mentioned a bath."

Marik admired Bakura's naked body for a moment and then nodded. They went to the bathroom, and Bakura grabbed Marik's shoulders and placed a kiss against Marik's skin. He had them step into the tub so that Bakura sat behind Marik.

"Why like this?" Marik asked, since the positioning was obviously intentional.

Bakura leaned forward so that his chest was close to Marik's back. He wrapped his hands around Marik, toying with his pectoral muscles. "I couldn't see much in your bracers and earrings. Sometimes I would get an . . . impression, sometimes I would hear conversations, but mostly my existence was simply . . ." Bakura sighed, "you." Bakura hid his face in Marik's hair, voice muffled yet audible. "Your pulse constantly beat against me. Each breath you took in or pushed out went past the choker. When you would tighten your muscles because of stress or pleasure I'd feel the tautness of your skin straining against the gold. The way you moved your head during a conversation tilted the earrings this way or that."

"Was it hard? To be trapped like that?"

Bakura moved Marik's hair so he could kiss the nape of Marik's neck. "I'm used to being bound in gold. What I wasn't used to . . . was feeling close to something other than myself. I wanted vengeance so badly but . . . I can't remember the family I was trying to avenge." Bakura sighed, pressing his forehead against Marik's shoulder. "All this time with you . . . I've grown to know you, Marik. I know you in an impossible way. Even now I know how you feel by your breath and your heart beat."

"Do you? Then how do I feel, Bakura?"

Bakura didn't say anything. He shifted, embracing Marik, holding him, as if that were the answer enough to Marik's question.

"I also know what it took . . . for you to bring me back . . . Marik, I . . . can't repay you for that."

"Idiot." Marik snorted. "If anything, we're even now."

Bakura grabbed a sponge, rinsing dirt off of Marik's body, careful with each scrape. "Sure, Marik, whatever you say."

"Compliance is unbecoming on you, Bakura."

"Is it? I'll repeat that to you the next time you want me to stop arguing."

After their bath they bandaged their wounds and ordered some quick takeout. Neither spoke much. Marik found it unbearable; in a dream was one thing, but on his couch was another. He glanced at Bakura and erupted into a fit of laughter. "You're naked."

Bakura stared down at his pale thighs. "So what? You're in a bathrobe."

"You don't have any clothes."

"Oh." Bakura started chuckling along with Marik.

They laughed a little longer than they should have. It wasn't that funny, but it felt good to sit there and laugh. Marik shrugged. "I guess we'll worry about it in the morning."

"Oh? Don't I need something to sleep in?"

Marik pushed Bakura into the sofa cushions, laying on top of him. "Not tonight you don't, or any other night if I have my way."

Bakura smirked. "You are very persuasive about getting your way."

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"Take it however you want . . . and do the same with me."

Marik stood, pulling Bakura up with him. They made their way to the bedroom, grabbing the lube from Marik's top dresser drawer. Marik lay Bakura down intentionally in the center of the bed, combing Bakura's ivory hair with his tawny fingers. "However I want?"

Bakura shrugged. "You've earned it. We surpassed the gods today. Even Isis only brought Osiris back for a night, but I'm here as long as you are."

Marik nodded. It was true. As the spell caster, when Marik's heart stopped, the spell would end and Bakura would die with him. "Are you okay with that?"

"I . . . don't mind that we'll go at once." Bakura turned away from Marik like he always did when he felt like his emotions may be showing. "I heard you talking to Rishid . . . we could get cremated together. Wherever burned bodies go is where you'll be . . . and where my family already is . . . so I'll follow you all into oblivion."

"Maybe it won't be oblivion." Marik kissed Bakura's collarbone. "The Winged Dragon always had a way of reincarnating from the graveyard."

"We could exist forever to spite the gods." Bakura tilted his head back so Marik had more skin to kiss.

Marik moved up to Bakura's throat, kissing him as he had every night since his dreams began. "Bakura," Marik whispered.

"What?" Bakura gasped and arched when Marik bit his throat.

Marik licked his way up to Bakura's earlobe. "You're alive."

Bakura smirked. "Then make me feel like it."

Marik kissed him, and Bakura slid his fingers down Marik's ribs and to his hips. Marik broke their kiss and gasped. Bakura raised up, sliding his length against Marik's. His fingers continued to tease Marik's skin. They danced up to Marik's jaw and throat, slid to the inside of his arm and trailed down to his wrist. Bakura traced Marik's veins, drawing little circles against Marik's pulse points and making him squirm and gasp, hips thrusting and sliding their cocks together each time Bakura found a new area.

Marik licked up Bakura's sternum. Bakura's fingers faltered a moment, pressing into Marik's skin as he arched his back. Marik pulled Bakura's head up off of the pillow so they could kiss, his white hair bunched around Marik's fingers and tickling both of their faces.

Bakura grabbed one of Marik's hands and shoved it between their bodies, silently urging Marik to grab his plump cock. Marik teased him, dragging his fingers up and down the shaft, thumbing the slit in the head. He lowered his hand, toying with Bakura's balls until Bakura started pushing his hips up for want of contact. Then Marik used the lube to slick his fingers.

Bakura was moaning by the second finger. It was hard for Marik to hold back and make sure Bakura was ready when he was a writhing storm, groaning and bucking so that Marik's fingers sank deeper with each push.

Marik couldn't stand it any longer. He cried out as he entered Bakura. Marik had to pause a moment to collect himself, and Bakura used the time to lap at Marik's earlobe, ending with a gentle suck before pulling away. Marik rolled his hips back and then forward. He felt Bakura's hands clutching his ass. Marik threw his head back and called out once more. He felt bare without the gold on his skin, but Bakura's tight, snug heat was worth more than any weight of gold.

"Marik," Bakura whispered. "Marik." His eyes fluttered closed, his voice was opulent and his breath dense. "Marik." Each time Marik reached the pinnacle of his thrust, Bakura squeezed and pushed upward to ensure Marik hit deep into his body. "Marik." His whisper drew out into a long moan, and the sound of it made the breath seize up in Marik's throat.

A small shock of warmth brought Marik's attention to his chest. He saw Bakura looking up at him, hand pressed against Marik's heart.

"Is it beating fast?" Marik asked as he rocked back and forth.

"Yes," Bakura whispered.

"Because of you." Marik's voice was thick. He wasn't sure if he should have said it out loud. They were no longer in a dream, no longer in his Soul Room. There was no excuse to expose himself so completely to Bakura.

But Bakura responded with a stare so intense that it made a sweet shudder vibrate down Marik's gut. He took Marik's left hand to put on his own chest. Marik had to readjust in order to keep moving, but he didn't complain because he liked the gesture. He felt Bakura's heart pound, fast, fast, faster as his body started to hitch and his climax neared.

"Marik. Gods, Marik, oh gods, oh god-ngh, oh-"

Marik dropped to his forearms. His lids lowered, and his lips parted as he sucked in quick breaths. Bakura moved one hand to his cock, pulling and sliding, and his other hand stayed pressed against Marik's heart. Marik started to scream, gold hair clinging to the sweat on his cheeks and brow. He almost collapsed, but he realized Bakura was screaming as well, so Marik dragged his body back and forth for a moment longer until they both lay in each other's arms and on sweat-damp sheets. As soon as his eyes closed, Marik was asleep, too exhausted for pillow talk or bickering, or even dreams.

In the middle of the night, Marik jerked awake, afraid everything he'd gone through was just another nightmare, one to add to the pile of terrors in his life. For a moment, Marik couldn't shake the feeling that it truly was another dream. He refused to look down, in case Bakura wasn't there, but an ivory hand slid along Marik's thigh. Marik dropped back to the mattress, exhaling in relief and turning to catch Bakura's gaze.

"I was afraid you were a dream," Marik spoke to the lamplight washing across the ceiling.

Bakura took Marik's hand and traced his lips along the curve of each one of Marik's knuckles. The light cast his hair in brilliant shades of pale yellow and buttercream. He kissed Marik's hand and set it down. "I told you before, I was never a dream, Marik. I've been here with you the whole time."

* * *

 ***** Hope everyone liked it.*****


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